My son is going to be a wrestler. Not that fake stuff--oh no, the real deal. Gross singlets, nasty diets, sprints and head-locks, half-nelsons and double-legged takedowns. Freestyle, Folkstyle, Greco-Roman. Well, maybe not Greco-Roman. He's going to be wrestling in America (most likely)...
He has the strength. His grip has literally amazed anyone caught in it since the day of his birth (I would know...I held his tiny hand in those first hours, and was amazed). He actually makes it difficult to take something away from him--I could knock him over without thinking about it, but if he's holding onto something he wants, I have to actually fight to get it away from him. He's 1 and a half!
He has the flexibility. Also one of the things he's done nearly all of his life--when mad he shows his frustration by arching his back--there were guys on my team that couldn't arch as well as this kid when he's upset.
And most importantly, he has a ferocity and a natural sense of his body that only naturals have. Recently he has taken to rough-housing with Dad. He'll run full-steam into me, even though its my legs he's attacking, and he'll actually be growling as he bear-hugs my calves. When I pick him up to tussle, he growls even more, grunting as he head-butts my face or shoulder, wiggling like crazy all the time holding me around my neck or trying so hard to escape that I have to throw him in the bed so I don't drop him to the floor. If he does get tossed to the bed, he rolls over and charges straight off the edge, jumping into my arms once again.
My son is gonna be a wrestler, and every kid that tries to take his spot on the team is going to regret it the next day.
Its cool being a dad.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment